


Baby, It's Cold Outside

by ziamgaylinson



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Christmas, M/M, Songfic, i know it's april but
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-23
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-10-22 20:12:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10704249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ziamgaylinson/pseuds/ziamgaylinson
Summary: Harry drops into Draco's home on Christmas Eve.





	Baby, It's Cold Outside

**Author's Note:**

> .... it's not Christmas but I was listening to the song and went "wow! what if...." so here it is (:

“I had been hoping that you would drop in,” Draco says softly, not looking up from his book as Harry steps out of the fireplace. 

 

Harry brushes off soot from his shoulder and shivers at the cold temperature of the room. It’s not an unfamiliar setting. He’s been in Draco’s small, but quaint, home several times over the past few months. It’s not something he’d ever admit to Ron and Hermione.

 

Draco sighs and looks up from his book to where Harry is standing, “You do realize you can sit, right?”

 

Harry shrugs before crossing the room and sitting on the opposite side of the couch Draco is sitting on. The blond man shifts in his seat and tucks his feet under Harry’s legs, toes wiggling as they warm up.

 

They sit like that for awhile, only the sound of the ticking clock above the mantle and their breathing to fill the silent room. 

 

Harry watches Draco read… something. It’s a hardcover book, but he’s taken the cover off. Draco looks up from his book again, raising an eyebrow, asking a silent question.

 

“I really can’t stay,” Harry says finally, green eyes locked on gray ones.

 

Draco is the first to look away, saying, “It’s cold outside,” as he licks the tip of his index finger, turns to the next page of his book.

 

“I’m aware,” Harry says, shivering as a chill runs down his spine. “Do you mind if I…” He asks gesturing to the inactive fireplace.

 

“Not at all,” Draco sets his book down on the table in front of them. “Would you like a drink?”

 

Harry watches Draco stand, not waiting for a response and head into the kitchen. When he hears Draco moving around in the kitchen, he pulls out his wand, pointing it at the fireplace and muttering a spell. The fire roars to life, spreading warmth throughout the cozy little room.

 

“Would you put a record on while I pour, Harry?” Draco calls from the kitchen.

 

It’s not an odd request. Many times Harry’s visited, there would be music already playing softly in the background. As he sifts through the records, most of which he has never heard before, he sees one that he recognizes faintly from a film he’d caught a glimpse of when he had lived in the muggle world. He wonders why Draco would own a record produced by muggles.

 

He puts the record on anyways, humming softly as he continues to sift through the records.

 

Draco finally returns, two glasses in one hand and a carton of eggnog in the other, to find Harry sitting cross-legged in front of the fire, hands outstretched.

 

“Listen to that fireplace roar,” Draco says, startling Harry from his position on the floor. He raises an eyebrow when Harry reaches up for a glass. “If you thought for a second I would sit on the floor, you are sorely mistaken.”

 

He sets the glasses on the table, taking a seat before he pours some of the eggnog in both. Harry eventually retires from the ground, and joins Draco, picking up the glass that Draco hadn’t already drunk from.

 

“I didn’t take you for an eggnog drinker,” Harry says aloud.

 

“It’s in the spirit of the season,” Draco shrugs again.

 

Harry sniffs at the contents of his glass. “What’s in this drink?”

 

“Did you expect me to drink it straight?”

 

“Of course not. Nothing about you is straight.” Draco looks away, but Harry thinks he can see the slightest hint of a smile behind his glass. Silence falls over them. 

 

Harry swirls the drink in his hand. He knows he shouldn’t have stopped by, he won’t want to leave.

 

“Penny for your thoughts?” Draco asks.

 

“I’ve got to get home,” Harry says simply, no sense of urgency in his tone.

 

“What’s your hurry?” Draco scoots closer to Harry on the couch. Only their thighs touch.

 

Harry sighs. “Your eyes are like starlight now.”

 

Draco moves closer, knocking shoulders with Harry. “That’s my line.”

 

Harry drapes his arm over Draco’s shoulder, pulling him in close. “You can say it next time.”

 

“Stop distracting me,” Draco scolds. “Why are you in a lazy hurry?”

 

“Christmas eve dinner at the Weasley’s.”

 

“So you really can’t stay then?” Draco asks, nuzzling into the crook of Harry’s neck.

 

Harry downs the rest of his drink in one go. “The answer,” he shivers when Draco’s teeth nip the soft skin at the base of his throat, “is no.”

 

He feels Draco pout against his neck. “But, it’s cold outside.”

 

The record stops. The clock continues to tick. The fireplace crackles, it’s light throwing shadows around the room. Neither man bothers to get up and change the song.

 

“Mrs. Weasley will start to worry if I don’t show,” Harry finally says, resting his cheek on top of Draco’s head.

 

“Look out the window at that storm.”

 

“There’s no storm. What are you tal--?”

 

Draco gives his wand a complicated twirl. The scenery out the window changes from lit up buildings in downtown London, to a winter wonderland, rivaling only that of the inside of a snow globe. “Never such a blizzard before.”

 

“I really can’t stay.” He can’t. He never misses Christmas eve dinner with the Weasley’s and he’s not sure how everyone would react if he arrived with Draco in tow.

 

“Think of my lifelong sorrow,” Draco all but whines.

 

“What lifelong sorrow? I’ll only be gone for the night.”

 

Draco shifts so that his head is lying in Harry’s lap. 

 

“Is that a promise?” He’s teasing, but Harry can hear the undertone of hope in his voice.

 

“Really, I’d better scurry.” Harry cards a hand through Draco’s soft, blond hair.

 

“You’ll freeze out there.”

 

“Then lend me your coat.”

 

“It’s up to your knees out there.”

 

“Then lend me your boots, you twat.”

 

Draco scoffs. “As if.”

 

Harry leans forward, reaching for the eggnog carton. “Maybe just a half a drink more.”

 

It’s difficult trying to pour another drink with Draco’s unmoving head in his lap, but he does it. When the glass is half full, Harry leans back in his seat. He means to sip from the glass but ends up downing it all at once. He glances at the clock above the mantle. Any longer and he’ll be late.

 

“Just send an owl, tell them you’re sick,” Draco says.

 

“They’ll be in to check on me.”

 

“Tell them not to.”

 

“Hermione will be suspicious.”

 

Draco sits up again. He searches Harry’s face. “Your lips look delicious,” he says finally, his gaze resting on Harry’s mouth.

 

“I bet Ron is waiting by the door,” is Harry’s reply.

 

“I was going to kiss you,” Draco whispers sounding annoyed, “but you’ve mentioned the Weasel and now that’s all I can think about.” He slumps back, crossing his arms petulantly.

 

“You still can,” Harry tries.

 

“No, you’ve ruined the moment.”

 

“So do you want me to leave, then?”

 

Draco reaches for Harry’s hand. Their fingers intertwine. “Your hands are just like ice, Potter.”

 

That’s how they sit for a minute or two. Neither man talking but gazing into the fire, connected by only their hands. Then Harry’s the one tucked under Draco’s arm. 

 

One kiss turns into two, into full on snogging with Draco’s fingers tugging at Harry’s dark locks and Harry’s hand exploring Draco beneath his Christmas jumper.

 

“Come to the dinner with me,” Harry whispers against Draco’s lips.

 

“And leave at the end of the night? With you?”

Harry pulls back with a pout. “Why not?”

 

“There’s bound to be talk tomorrow.”

 

Harry sits back on the couch, Draco follows. “I doubt it.”

 

“Well, there will be plenty implied if you show up late with me in tow,” Draco snorts. Harry’s eyes snap to the clock. Shit. If he leaves now he’ll be almost twenty minutes late. Mrs. Weasley’s going to kill him.

 

Harry pulls Draco in, once more. 

 

“This evening has been,” Harry whispers, “so very nice.” 

 

This kiss, at least, he manages to keep brief.

 

“How do I look?” Harry asks, standing before the fireplace.

 

Draco has conjured up a fleece blanket and wrapped himself in it. The book from before hovers reading distance from his face. He looks up from his book at the question. “Your hair looks, well…” he grimaces.

 

Harry rolls his eyes, biting his tongue to hide the smile on his face, as he steps into the Fireplace.


End file.
